


Inadvertent Worship, and Also a Few Goats

by unnieunnie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Bath Sex, Fantasy, Goats, Gods AU, Look this is mostly about cuteness, M/M, Multi, One very confused protagonist, Pet Names, Questionable theology, War, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/pseuds/unnieunnie
Summary: Jongdae was just trying to complete a vital spy mission for his country. Collecting a couple of pet gods along the way wasn't in the plan.The way they kept flirting with him was DEFINITELY not in the plan.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay, Kim Minseok | Xiumin/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145
Collections: EXO-M Fic Fest R2





	Inadvertent Worship, and Also a Few Goats

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt #76 - I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for such a fun prompt.

Jongdae ran through the dark forest, crouched low and not allowing himself to notice all the small branches that tugged at him or whipped across his face. Not permitting the pain in his ankle from tripping over a root to slow him down.

He was behind enemy lines. The map showing Balgayan supply lines bounced on his back in its waterproof case. He had to get to safe territory by dawn. And if he could bring the intel to command HQ, they might be able to turn the tide of the war.

A low light ahead made Jongdae skid to a halt. He crept forward on his belly and peered through underbrush. In the clearly, a Balgayan priest stood on a raised stone dais, chanting at the sky. Jongdae cursed under his breath. He wished for the days of his boyhood, when magic had been a thing people read about in books, something that sounded beautiful and thrilling. Now it only represented death.

He stared around the clearing but saw no Balgayan soldiers: just the priest, and a bluish light gathering beyond the man in the clearing.

Well, crossing the clearing would be faster than going around, and maybe he could do a good deed for his country at the same time. Jongdae felt around until he found a decent-sized rock and burst out from among the trees at a sprint. He leapt onto the dais and swung the rock solidly into the back of the priest’s head without hardly breaking his stride, pelting straight toward the other side of the clearing as the bluish light faded.

Jongdae collided with something solid and warm that said “oof” as he bounced off it and landed on his rear.

He looked up into two faces. He’d have sworn the priest had been the only person in the clearing, but two faces stared down at him – one heart-shaped, one oval, both pale and indistinct under the half-moon. Neither person moved toward him. Nor did they, in the dim light, appear to be wearing uniforms.

“You should get out of here,” Jongdae said as he climbed to his feet. “This is a battle zone, it’s not safe.”

“Then why are you here?”

The man’s voice was a smooth, light tenor with slightly old-fashioned diction.

“Please,” Jongdae said, “just be safe, I have to go.”

“Wait,” the other person said, and reached for him.

But Jongdae shook off the man’s grasp and ran.

The problem with pausing was that it reminded his body how tired it was. Jongdae struggled through the trees after that. He didn’t really know where he was, and wouldn’t until there was light. He only knew that he was running (or rather, by this time deep in the night, stumbling) in _probably_ the right direction, and that the farther he could get in the darkness, the less likely he was to die after sunup. But oh, he was tired. And his ankle was on fire. And he was so thirsty he could hardly breathe.

So on one hand, the little forest stream was a welcome discovery.

On the other hand, two figures sat by its bank.

“Do stop, dearest,” the voice of the second man from the clearing said. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate.”

“How did you get here?” Jongdae panted.

“We traveled,” the first man said lightly. “Please, love. Catch your breath. Drink. It’s not so dire as all that.”

Jongdae figured that if he were going to be stalked through the forest by crazy people, at least they were ones who didn’t seem likely to hurt him, given the encouragement and the pet names. He knelt by the stream and drank, splashed water over his head, and drank again. One of the two seated figures hummed his approval, and the other patted Jongdae on the arm.

“Now. Tell us why the rush, dear heart. Xiuxiu and I have been talking while we waited for you, and we think things might’ve gone rather awry.”

“Look, I don’t know how you got here ahead of me,” Jongdae panted, “much less why you keep talking to me like you know who I am, but I’m telling you, this part of the world isn’t safe. You two need to get out of these woods by dawn, I don’t even know how close we are to the front lines, this place could be rotten with soldiers.”

“Oh, there’s no one of consequence for leagues and leagues,” the clear-voiced one said. “The only magic-user was that priest you knocked out, and he’ll be puking for days after that hit. I’d feel rather terrible about it if I weren’t more immediately worried about your ankle.”

“My what,” Jongdae croaked.

“He’s right, my love, let’s make that easier for you,” the second, huskier voice said.

The second man – Xiuxiu? – touched him, and Jongdae’s body went limp while his brain blared alarm sirens when the man’s hand touched his booted ankle and, even through layers of leather and sock, his ankle went cool and blissfully less painful. Jongdae sighed.

“What is going on here?” he muttered.

“Hm,” the smooth voice said, also laying a hand on Jongdae’s ankle. “A quite bad high ankle sprain. You should’ve elevated this immediately, why in the world were you running on it, beloved? I can sort it out for you, but really. You need at least three solid days’ rest afterward for everything to calm down properly.”

This was followed by something that scraped and hurt, until it didn’t, and Jongdae’s boot no longer felt so tight around his leg, and he slumped.

“Rest,” Xiuxiu said.

“I can’t. I have to get these maps to HQ.”

The two men sat back on their heels and huffed.

“War again?” the smooth voice said. “Humans. Always so fighty! Can’t you try any other ways to solve your disagreements?”

“Wrestling, for example,” Xiuxiu said.

“Poetry competitions.”

“Goat races.”

“Goat races? Xiuxiu, that’s ridiculous.”

“That’s why I said it.”

“Look,” Jongdae said, “I don’t know what you did to my ankle, but thank you. You have to understand, I can’t possibly rest, I have to go. Thank you again, please get to safely.”

He gulped down another drink of water and splashed across the creek into the dark trees.

It was just before dawn when he hit the next body of water – and good thing, too, since he’d have splashed straight into it in the dark and drowned, instead of squinting across the dim pre-dawn light at the enormous lake in front of him.

“Well this does look like a conundrum,” Xiuxiu’s voice said just behind Jongdae’s left ear.

“Oh, Xiu, look what you’ve done, the poor boy’s wet all over,” the other one said, and reached down to haul Jongdae out of the water by one arm.

“All you all right? Didn’t land too hard on your bum?” he asked, patting the body part in question.

“No!” Jongdae squeaked, the oiled map case clutched to his chest in the vain hope that it might protect him from – whatever in the wide world was going on.

“Lay! Taking liberties!” Xiuxiu said.

“Sorry,” Lay said, his grin a bright spot in the low light.

“How do you keep overtaking me,” Jongdae croaked.

“Very mysterious, isn’t it, dearest?” Xiuxiu said. “However, there’s a patrol headed this way, and I’m not sure whether they’re your fellows or the other side, so let’s get across this lake first, shall we?”

He put an arm around Jongdae’s waist and tugged him close. Jongdae’s higher register was getting quite the workout so early in the day.

“Now who’s taking liberties?” Lay said.

Xiuxiu smiled past Jongdae. The impression of beauty was such that Jongdae found himself wondering how much longer it would be before the sun actually rose.

“You can’t begrudge my wishing to show off a bit,” Xiuxiu said.

The only thing more surprising than the sudden appearance of ice under one’s feet in late spring was the way said ice propelled itself across the surface of the lake. Shock kept Jongdae as frozen as the ice under his feet at first, but the cool morning air ruffled his hair as they skimmed over the water, and his feet were strangely steady on the ice in Xiuxiu’s embrace. For the briefest moment, all his cares blew away, and Jongdae laughed aloud. The arm around his waist tightened and they slid even faster, until Jongdae stumbled onto the dry land at the shore.

Lay was already there, arms crossed and scowling. The light was still dim, but it was enough to show Lay’s old-fashioned robes and long hair. Jongdae looked over at Xiuxiu and saw the same. They were dressed like figures out of old temple paintings.

“How did you get here ahead of us?”

Lay shrugged.

“The same way you would’ve if Xiuxiu hadn’t wanted a hug.”

“Okay, enough,” Jongdae said. “What’s going on here? Who are you? Why do you keep following me?”

“You’re ours, beloved,” Xiuxiu said. “There was a call, Lay and I answered, and you were the one in the circle when we arrived.”

“What?”

“It was supposed to be the priest of course, but you knocked him right off the dais. I suppose theologians might argue that’s a technicality, but he had terrible plans for us, you know. Smiting and destruction and all that. Also you’re much nicer to look at,” Lay said.

“Indeed,” Xiuxiu said.

“What’s your name, my love?” Lay asked.

“Jongdae?”

“Oh,” Xiuxiu cooed. “Our little temple bell, ringing out for us, how dear.”

“He looks like a cat, Xiuxiu. I can’t believe he isn’t one of your priests already!”

“Well. I do hope we’ll get to the worshipping part soon,” Xiuxiu rumbled.

Jongdae took a step backwards, splashing a little into the lake water.

“What’s that about a call? What do you mean? Worshipping? Who are you?”

Lay whirled the sleeves of his robe dramatically and laid a hand over his heart.

“I’m Lay, god of growth and healing,” he said.

Xiuxiu tossed his head so that the ornaments in his hair made a tinkling sound like sleet on glass.

“I am Xiumin, god of cold and frost.”

“Excuse me?”

“According to the bargain that priest in the woods set out, we’re now bound to you for a period of time until you achieve victory, three of your year-cycles, or the rest of your life, depending on how useful you find us to be,” Lay said with a grin and a wink.

The light was substantially brighter. Jongdae regretted wishing for it. They were each handsome enough to be the gods they claimed they were. Which was upsetting.

“The priest didn’t mean to call us,” Xiumin said. “He was rather hoping for movement and time, I think. Sadly for him, Han and Tao are somewhat busy this century.”

“We would’ve been busy too, had he waited another heartbeat,” Lay said with a sigh.

“Our Jongdae can’t stumble endlessly through the woods,” Xiumin said. “I haven’t forgotten where my hand was, don’t worry.”

“Gods of. That is not. Possible,” Jongdae said.

“Very true,” Lay said, nodding. “Impossible comes with the territory, you know.”

For lack of anything better to do, Jongdae stalked away in the direction of the rising sun.

The problem with having acquired a couple of pet gods was that he couldn’t get rid of them. Every time he paused, they appeared. He let go of a branch too soon and it scratched his face; the gods were there in an instant, Xiumin patting his hand and Lay healing the scratch on Jongdae’s cheek before it hardly had a chance to bleed.

Jongdae suspected that Lay’s healing was not _required_ to be followed up by a kiss to the injured area. He was _certain_ that Xiumin only kissed his other cheek out of competition.

Jongdae’s body disagreed with his mind that there were far more important matters to hand than seeing about more kissing.

He tried not to be surly about the luck that followed him along with these two smiling gods and their wandering hands: he stumbled across streams every time he was thirsty, and once a tree still bearing a few very late persimmons, creamy and perfectly ripe and within even his own not-considerable reach. He reached into his pocket – which he _knew_ had been empty – and discovered a hand-long strip of dried pork, only slightly linty.

At sunset, he found Lay and Xiumin grinning in the center of a moss-covered clearing that looked like a campsite made to order by … well, fine, by the gods.

“I should keep going,” he said.

“My love,” Xiumin said. “Nonsense. You’re well within your own people’s territory by now, surely. A couple hours’ sleep can only help you to your destination faster.”

That made sense. The pressing of two divine bodies against his own when he lay down, accompanied by a hand on one hip and warm breath against the back of his neck – not so much.

“Stop that,” he said.

“Oh, but darling, wouldn’t it help you sleep better?” Lay asked.

Jongdae figured it was probably Lay’s hand curving over his thigh.

“It would not,” he said.

Not if he wanted to wake with the sun and get the maps to HQ, where they were badly needed. Badly! Needed! By people who were trying to end the fighting, and who would definitely not appreciate this little woodland interlude always threatening to turn into a bawdy tavern song.

“So stubborn,” Xiumin murmured as they moved away from him.

Being gods and all, they probably could’ve popped into another realm or something. Because the rustling and soft cries from the other side of the mossy area did not help him sleep better.

At least in the morning, the two of them were too busy mooning at one another to bother Jongdae as he rolled to his feet and continued his journey west. Their luck, at least, propelled him through camp without any delay, until he found himself finally handing the map case over to the commanders. They returned his salute absently, staring at his companions.

“Who are these?”

Perhaps it was a miracle, the way Jongdae’s commanders immediately accepted the introductions of two gods. They didn’t even question it – just stared at Jongdae, at Xiumin, at Lay. Stared, frowned. The Commander-in-Chief of Artillery grasped Jongdae’s arm.

“Give them to us,” he said.

“What?”

“These gods,” the General said. “Transfer the bond to us, Corporal.”

“Oh dear,” Lay said.

“I don’t. Bond? How would I?” Jongdae stammered.

The grip on his arm was so tight that his fingers were going numb.

“That’s an order, Corporal,” the Commander said. “Transfer these gods to our keeping.”

“You have the maps,” Jongdae said through a haze of confusion.

“And we’ll use them,” the General said. “As we will use these gods you brought us.”

Because of course the commanders could use them, these gods. Lay in the medical tents, Xiumin at the front – making them stronger, causing chaos. Turning the tide. Making peace, perhaps. Jongdae could be rid of their constant, pestering presence. These odd, funny gods with their beautiful faces and their pet names, their graceful robes and their wandering hands. For a period of time until the war was one, or three years, or at the commanders’ beck and call forever.

“No,” he said.

“Beloved,” Xiumin said.

The Commander shook Jongdae’s arm.

“You have your orders.”

“I can’t,” Jongdae said.

If nothing else, he didn’t know how.

The Commander stepped back. Drew his sidearm, and pulled back the hammer. Lifted his arm until the barrel of the pistol was pointed at Jongdae’s face.

“You have. Your orders,” he said.

“Oh dear, this is unfortunate,” Lay said.

Jongdae felt an arm go around his waist from the right, and another go around his waist from the left. Then it seemed as if he closed his eyes against a fierce wind – there was noise and too much air, but nothing he could see – and they were standing at the edge of a river. Jongdae and the two gods.

“What?” he said.

“He was about to harm you, dearest,” Lay said. “We couldn’t permit it.”

“Certainly not,” Xiumin said.

Jongdae followed them away from the riverbank toward a small temple. They spoke – to him, to each other – but he didn’t register any of the words. It was as if he stared around himself as a completely blank slate. He climbed the steps of the temple in a daze. Was it godly luck or magic that made the small pile of offerings on the altar? Either way, Jongdae took the pear, the cheese, the cup of wine from their hands with a mind as empty as a cloudless sky.

He tried not to blink, because every time his eyes closed, he saw the barrel of his commander’s gun pointed at his face. He rubbed his arm, where the pressure of his commander’s grip had left behind an ache.

He had been in the army for 5 years, had joined the moment he was of age. Had endured the hunger, cold, heat, pain, boredom, filth, and terror of fighting. Had seen both his own and other men’s blood on his hands. He had crawled through the enemy camp on his knees and elbows, amid mortar fire, finding things no one should ever see in that churned-up mud, and run for days through the forest with the map case hanging off his back.

And his commander had pointed a gun at him. At his face.

He couldn’t remember the boy he had been, before joining up. He had no idea of the man he might be, if he wasn’t Corporal Kim Jongdae, following orders. Orders from people who, it seemed, valued him so little that they would blow his brains out of his head without hesitation to take from him these two gods he’d never asked for.

Who had healed his ankle and pestered him to drink. Who called him “beloved” and skimmed across a lake of a morning such that, for one instant, he forgot to be a soldier and was only himself.

“Oh, my love,” Lay said, wrapping warm arms around him. “There you go, let it out.”

Jongdae figured that prayer wrapped up in the arms of a god was about a thousand times better than kneeling in a temple with a face full of incense smoke. He worried for a minute when Lay wiped his face clean with a green silk sleeve, but divine fabric didn’t appear to let tears or snot stick to it.

“Nicely done,” Xiumin said. “And now I believe that Lay previously mentioned something about three days’ rest, did he not? I think we should get started on that.”

As children, Jongdae and his friends had made a game of trying to sneak into the inner sanctum of their local temple, to stare at the statues of the six gods. The priests (who he now figured had probably done the same thing when they were young) always caught them.

This temple was empty of priests and as quiet as if it had been empty for years, though the red pillars looked freshly painted and the golden wood floors shone. Jongdae let the coolness of Xiumin’s hand clasping his own center him as Lay swept aside the gauze curtain and they stepped into the gods’ alcove.

Lay posed with his fingers spread under his chin next to a pale jade statue that looked like a tree that remembered once being a man, or a man in the process of becoming a tree.

“What do you think? Do you see the resemblance?” he asked, then gave a high-pitched laugh.

“It could never do you justice,” Jongdae said.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But he was safe, for the first time in years, and exhausted, and holding the hand of a god.

Anyway, the smile that lit up Lay’s face dazzled his eyes.

“Which god did you dedicate to?” Xiumin asked.

His thumb stroked the side of Jongdae’s hand. Jongdae pulled him over to the branched, abstract statue in the center.

“Chen,” he said. “I always liked his hymns the best.”

“Ah,” Xiumin said.

He let go of Jongdae’s hand, then reached out and stroked the fulgurite with the backs of his fingers.

“Our Chen.”

Lay reached out to take Xiumin’s hand, and they smiled at one another.

“We haven’t seen him in a while,” Lay said. “Chennie and Fan are taking turns off in the mortal world for a bit. A thing we gods do from time to time, to remind ourselves of what it’s like.”

“You remind me of him, a little, around the mouth,” Xiumin said.

For a breath, Jongdae imagined he saw a god’s tears. But then Xiumin ducked his head so that his hair ornaments shushed against each other again, and they walked farther back into the temple.

It was odd, how easily things went in the presence of gods. The priests’ living quarters in the back had bedding that smelled of sunlight and clean robes folded neatly in cedarwood chests. At Lay’s touch, water rushed from the pipe into the large tub. Lay snickered at the way Jongdae turned away when Xiumin’s robes disappeared before he stepped into the water.

“Give him a moment,” Lay said.

Jongdae tried not to stare at the contours of Xiumin’s arms, stretched out to either side and his hair a shining black braid trailing down one muscled shoulder. He looked pale as moonlight above the dark surface of the water, which soon steamed around him.

Xiumin did not look away while Lay helped Jongdae peel off his filthy, tattered uniform and handed him into the water. Jongdae hissed at the heat.

“How do they get it so hot?”

“That’s me,” Xiumin said.

“He draws the chill into himself,” Lay said while he climbed into the tub, his own hair tied into a knot on top of his head. “You should touch him, and see.”

Jongdae looked over; Xiumin blinked his cat-slanted eyes as slowly as any contented tom. Jongdae’s heart thudded in his chest while he reached out and laid one hand on Xiumin’s forearm. It was as cold as marble. Jongdae pretended to ignore the curve of Xiumin’s lips as he slid his palm up, over the swell of a divine bicep, the curve of shoulder, and down that sculpted chest. Even under the surface of the water, Xiumin’s skin was as cold as a mountain spring.

“Imagine how delicious it is, to have him hard and cold inside you amid all this heat,” Lay said.

Jongdae shivered and let his hand trail down. Felt the shudder of a god’s belly under his touch. Grasped what he found lower and licked his lip at the way Xiumin hissed and tossed his head.

“A kiss can be a form of worship,” Lay whispered.

And they were in a temple – the perfect place for it. Jongdae leaned in. Xiumin’s lips were chill but soft. His mouth tasted of snow. His hand, curled around Jongdae’s neck, was strong as a command. Jongdae let his mouth be a vessel for the will of a god and sighed at the sweet invasion of Xiumin’s tongue.

A cold hand tugged at his arm; Jongdae turned to straddle Xiumin’s thighs, to gasp at the touch of that cold mouth against his neck. Warm hands slid around his waist – Jongdae leaned his head back onto Lay’s shoulder and gave himself up to them as an offering.

It should have overwhelmed him: two gods, the heat of the water, the strength of Lay’s hands and the chill of Xiumin’s skin. But each time it threatened to overwhelm him, Jongdae found himself pressed between two bodies, held safe among four hands, with soft mouths on his skin and comforting words whispered in his ears.

Who worshipped, and who was worshipped? Jongdae hardly knew, the way they murmured over him, kissed him, touched his body with reverent hands. With Xiumin’s chill grasp around his cock and Lay’s divinely slick, warm fingers inside him, Jongdae thought he would come undone completely, an act of un-creation. But when he choked and cried out, they went still, gentle, until he remembered how to breathe again.

“Jongdae,” Xiumin said, burying himself to the hilt until Jongdae panted, both from feeling too full and from that cold organ inside him, the hot water around him.

“Jongdae,” Lay said, then groaned at the slide of Jongdae’s hand around him, each of them stroking the other with the same rhythm.

Jongdae said nothing, his mouth busy on Lay’s neck, at Lay’s lips. He gasped once, when Xiumin drove in hard, then leaned in to bite his back. Lay laughed in the back of his throat, and his hand curled more firmly around Jongdae’s neck.

“Not yet,” Lay whispered when Jongdae started to shudder his way to completion.

Something calm and green moved through him, from his cock and up until it cooled the thrum of blood in his ears. Jongdae breathed at the pleasure of it, relaxed around Xiumin’s cold thrusts and sighed. Lay moved closer until they both knelt over Xiumin’s lap. Xiumin’s arms wrapped around them both, and he used his hold on Lay’s ass for leverage.

“Faster, my love,” Lay said.

Jongdae didn’t know which of them Lay meant – but anyway, they all moved faster. His face was pressed against Lay’s chest. He tasted green with every inhale. Lay’s grip was tight around him. Xiumin’s cock was deep inside him: heat/cold, friction/softness, and all of it so good that Jongdae let go into a long wave that pulsed out of him, his own cry drowned out by those of the gods fucking him.

He had no idea what to feel afterward, spent and tired not only from the fucking but from everything that came before it. So he let himself feel nothing. He let Xiumin cradle him in that still-chilly lap, let Lay run hands over him. Gentle fingers brushed against his ass, and the residual soreness melted away like a sigh.

“Beloved,” Xiumin said, kissing his head.

“I rather meant to use my mouth,” Lay said after an enjoyable pause of many limbs tangled together and lips presented for kissing. “Given that I have no need to breathe.”

Jongdae found it necessary to blink a great many times.

“Oh, your ears are so red,” Xiumin said. “Let me cool them down for you.”

That this wintry god was making his own suggestion via the application of chill tongue to hot ears, Jongdae was sure.

“Why all of this?” Jongdae asked when they had dragged all the sleeping mats and blankets into a pile and tumbled down together.

Xiumin’s skin had warmed to the temperature of the air, and he lay on top of the blankets, his small limbs spread out across Jongdae to reach Lay.

“We answered the call,” Lay said.

He kissed Jongdae’s temple. Jongdae looked over into the warmth of Lay’s dark eyes.

“I don’t believe for a second that you were under any compulsion to.”

Lay had dimples when he grinned, and Xiumin’s laugh was husky and low. Jongdae snuggled down into both the blankets and the sense of safety, held between two laughing gods.

“Of course not,” Xiumin said. “Which priests and magicians never quite understand.”

“I hardly think we would’ve agreed to that particular priest’s plan,” Lay said.

“Oh no.”

Xiumin kissed Jongdae – a brief, sweet thing.

“The call had an intriguing chaos about it,” he said. “That’s what interested us. A sound like thunder in the background of the rite, which never could’ve come from that priest. We came to see.”

“And found you,” Lay said, skimming his hand down Jongdae’s flank.

“So handsome,” Xiumin said.

“Such a sense of duty shining within,” Lay said.

A sense of duty rested so much more lightly on the heart when it consisted of curling up to sleep in the arms of gods than it did in the mud of a battlefield with the sound of mortar fire in the distance.

He woke when the temple was still dark – Lay, however, was not. He glowed brightly with a golden-yellow light.

“Someone’s calling for me,” he said.

“That’s the color of our flag,” Jongdae said.

“Oh, drat your commanders.”

The glow increased over several hours until Jongdae’s eyes watered to look at him. Lay assured him that the call was merely a nagging sensation like an itch, but the glow continued to brighten, and a couple of times, Jongdae thought he heard Lay hiss under his breath.

Around midmorning, Xiumin’s skin took on a reddish light.

“Of course,” Xiumin said, rolling his eyes. “It’s even that same priest.”

Helplessness stole all the contentment out of Jongdae’s limbs. What could he do, in the face of magicians and priests? It was worse than the moment in which his commander had pointed the gun at his face.

He made tea, even though the sleeves of the priest’s robe he wore got in the way and the tray rattled when he set it in front of them, from the shake in his hands. He watched through eyes slitted against the glare as Lay and Xiumin, both glowing like suns in their robes and hair ornaments, reached for the cups and drank, tranquil as if it were a normal spring afternoon.

He cleaned the temple around them. He asked them endlessly whether they were all right while they knelt side by side, glowing, occasionally wincing when they thought he wasn’t looking. As if they were waiting for something.

He had said no to his commanders mostly because he didn’t know how to transfer the thing that tied him to these gods. Would it even have worked, if he had died, or would they simply have gone back to wherever gods lived?

If he had died, he wouldn’t have to bear the loss of them.

If the magicians pulling at them succeeded, how was he supposed to survive? Knowing what it was like to sleep in their arms but to never have it again. Never to hear either of them call him pet names, never to have a hand surreptitiously slide over his bum, followed by a cackle? Never again to taste snow or smell green.

And all he had done for them was make tea.

“Dearest,” Xiumin said.

His voice sounded so strained.

They were gods, in a temple. And Jongdae didn’t know what else he could possibly do. So he knelt before them and prayed.

“Please,” he said – with his voice and his heart – “please don’t leave me, ever.”

The light coming from them was so bright that Jongdae could hardly bear it with his eyes closed. But now that light was white and green.

“Well done, my love,” Lay said.

Jongdae noticed that his knees felt damp. He opened his eyes to find himself kneeling in a wide, broad valley.

It was heavily populated by two armies. But there were no weapons in sight, and all of the soldiers looked rather alarmed, as if they were as surprised as Jongdae by their location.

Jongdae looked over to Xiumin and Lay. And then up, and then further up still, for they were now each the size of a temple pillar, with robes that moved around them as if alive and remote, blank expressions. Jongdae shivered.

Lay glanced over, giving the barest wink.

“We were called,” Xiumin said.

He voice was the low roar of an avalanche.

“This isn’t,” Jongdae’s former General said, staring at an elderly, hollow-faced man in a large black hat, “why isn’t this working?”

“You are displeased with our answer to your call?” Xiumin thundered.

A number of the regular troops on both sides took a step back.

“You, priest,” one of the Balgayan commanders said, waving in Jongdae’s direction, “bring your gods to heel.”

Jongdae looked at his former general and his former commander. Neither of them seemed to recognize him.

Lay stamped his foot, and the ground shuddered. Jongdae stumbled and heard cries go up among the armies.

“You think gods can be contained?”

The regular troops of both sides took another step back.

The Balgayan magician started to chant, dancing around a small fire in a brass bowl and howling once like a wolf. Lay leaned down and plucked that man up by the back of his coat. The man shrieked and hung limp.

“Stop your nonsense,” Lay said. “It’s distinctly uncomfortable.”

He tossed the magician over his shoulder. Jongdae watched the man fly through the air as slowly as a piece of dandelion fluff and drop gently into a pond. Jongdae rubbed his nose to stop himself from laughing.

Xiumin crouched down to stare at the magician from Jongdae’s own country. At that size, his hair ornaments sounded like huge wind chimes, and the sound made the air feel cold. Seeing someone so large crouch with his forearms on his knees was a bit like watching a mountain bend down. The magician flung himself to the ground and yelled apologies.

“Hmm,” Xiumin said, standing. “Blame always lies with the head.”

He gestured, and where the knot of commanders had stood now contained a handful of goats.

Lay sighed.

The force of Xiumin’s enormous grin caused a noticeable proportion of the troops to suddenly sit down. Or maybe faint, Jongdae couldn’t tell. He might’ve considered a brief spell of unconsciousness himself if one of the goats hadn’t yelled and run forward to those on the other side.

There was a lot of bleating, and the clack of horn against horn. One or two officers moved vaguely toward the melee, as if to separate the goat brawl, but they didn’t resist being held back by their fellows. Eventually, several of the goats lost interest in literally butting heads and turned their attention to the grass, until there were only two goats left, their curled horns locked together, tugging one another back and forth.

“One might consider this emblematic,” Xiumin said.

He waved his hand again, and the commanders of the two armies found themselves either kneeling with a mouthful of grass or, for two of them, locked in an embrace. The number of laughs from the crowd was considerable.

Lay grasped Xiumin’s hand.

“This is tiresome,” he said. “Everyone go home.”

They waved their unclasped hands in a mirrored, sweeping gesture, and the valley emptied. Jongdae, for one panicked moment, feared he would pop into his mother’s kitchen. He put his hands together to pray again, to ask them to be allowed to stay.

When he opened his eyes, Lay and Xiumin were person-sized once more. Lay sat down on the grass with a thump.

“Exhausting!” he said.

Xiumin cracked his neck and stretched his arms.

“It was rather a lot of people to send away all at once.”

He looked over at Jongdae with a wry smile.

“Praying to stay, really, Jongdae. Such a worrier!”

“I’m not sure how to convince him that he’s in charge of this bond,” Lay huffed.

The he said, “Oof, Xiuxiu you must be baking in this heat,”

and with another, wearier arm-wave, a tent seemed to grow up out of the ground around the two of them: green and gold silk on the outside, with gauzy panels to let in the breeze, and piles of pillows inside. Jongdae thought he even saw a small brazier with a teapot on it.

He did enjoy how these gods had no patience for discomfort. He stepped into the tent with them.

“I’m in charge, you say?”

“In charge of the bond, at least, dearest,” Xiumin said with a lopsided smile. “Was there anything else you’d like to be in charge of?”

Oh, Jongdae could think of some things he’d like to be in charge of. First among them, lessening the many layers of robes they were all wearing.

“As tired as you both look after all that, I supposed I’m in charge of your well-being at the moment,” he said.

Now it was Lay’s turn to smile. He rolled over onto his side and propped his head on his hand.

“We draw strength from worship, you know, my love,” he said.

Jongdae laughed.

He untied his robes and set about proving his devotion to his gods. The well-grown pine next to the tent and hand’s height of snow that he found outside in the morning suggested that his offerings had been well accepted. Even if he didn’t allow Lay to heal all the love bites.


End file.
